"I love your eyes," said Maurice earnestly. "But I made a mistake when I said you were Japanese. You're Slav—Russian, you know."
"I must be a procession of all nations, according to you."
"But you are frightfully subtle."
"Anything else? You're sure I'm not a bighead?"
"A what?" said Maurice.
"A pantomime bighead."
Maurice laughed.
"Men always talk about my eyes," Jenny went on. "They often call me the girl with the saucy eyes, or the squiny eyes, which I don't like. And yet, for all my strange appearance, if I want a man to be struck on me, he always is."
"Did you want me to be struck on you?"